


Petrichor

by Lywinis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Strike Team Delta, also might be black tie if you squint, or even black bowtie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can always tell when it's going to rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

“Looks like rain,” Clint said over the comms. Phil peered out the window, noting the clear skies, hot and blue over Budapest. He quirked an eyebrow at Natasha, who shrugged as she slipped into her dress.

“He’s good at these things,” she said, and it was the only explanation he got. He peered out again, knowing that it was hot and dusty, and he could already feel the sheen of sweat building up under his suit jacket; he turned to Natasha and helped her zip up, sliding her long hair to the side with gentle fingers.

She looked back at him, her eyes unreadable. “Help me with my hair?”

“I’m going to have to,” he said, by way of apology. “Is that all right?”

She inclined her head, and he took the brush she offered, winding the thick red strands through his fingers as he braided the wire through it. They’d check her dress, if they were suspicious, but her hair was not a target. The small mic was the size of his thumb, and he hid it with an expert twist, covering it but not blocking the signal with an elaborate updo that emphasized her shoulders and the creamy line of her neck.

Her eyes were closed and she blinked when he slid his hands from her hair, almost as if she had fallen asleep. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she smiled, looking it over.

“Phil Coulson, professional hairdresser,” she murmured.

“My skillset is varied and eclectic,” he said. She laughed, tucking the strands he’d left loose behind her ears.

“Remind me to tell Clint that,” she said. “He’s going to howl with laughter that you actually did fix my hair like I bet you would.”

Phil had the good grace to smile instead of scowl, and she winked at him before toeing into her heels.

“You sure you don’t want an escort, Tasha?” he asked, rolling the nickname across his tongue with care. She’d only just consented to it from him, after he’d pulled her from a ledge in Cairo two months ago. “It won’t take me long to swap for the tux.”

“Phil, the day I need an escort is the day I retire.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him blinking in her wake. “Don’t wait up. I’ll let you know when I’m in position.”

“Jesus, Tash, could you take any  _longer_?” Clint asked. Phil realized Clint could probably see them from his position, and he fought the urge to flush. Instead, he moved to throw his jacket on, tightening his tie as he tucked his glock in his holster. He watched Natasha sashay away, knowing that for as delicate as she looked, she had at least three knives on her, not to mention the snub-nosed revolver in her garter.

Markov wouldn’t turn himself in, after all.

* * *

 

He joined Clint on the roof, the sun beating down alleviated somewhat by the awning over the garden there. Clint’s eyes were unreadable through his sunglasses, but Phil felt his gaze as he squatted down, peering over the edge with the binoculars.

“He’s in there, sir,” Clint said, rolling back onto his belly. He’d pulled a series of bricks from the wall, opening himself up a shooting lane as he waited. He was working with a fifty caliber rifle, the large barrel coated in matte paint to keep the shine off of it. Clint was bound and determined to cut Markov down today. “All she has to do is lead him to the windows, and I got ‘im.”

“That takes a little more doing than most,” Phil replied, squinting through the binoculars. “Markov’s seen your faces. He’ll be on the lookout for you.”

“Exactly why Tash is going in there instead of you.” Clint’s eyes returned to his scope. “Markov wants her, more ways than one. All she’s gotta do is patsy him long enough to get him to the window.”

Phil nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

“Right now, sir? It’s all we got.”

Phil nodded. “I know. I’m going to head down the back, get a look inside. If she can’t get him to the windows, I can probably squeeze a shot off from the balcony.”

Clint rolled over, his eye to the scope again. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot, I know what I’m doing.” Phil rolled to his feet, crouching low as he made his way away. “I’ll be in radio contact.”

* * *

 

Phil worked his way through the kitchens, noting the absence of all but the barest bones of the staff, all working with their heads down.

_“Natalia, you wound me. How could you think I would harm a pretty hair on your head?”_ Markov’s voice cut through the discreet ear piece Phil wore, and he almost snarled.

Instead, he ghosted through the back of the hotel’s restaurant to the bar. He kept low, pretending to be digging through a box for something when the bodyguard strolled past. One had a cigarette between his lips; as they headed out to the back, Phil estimated he had ten or so minutes until they came back. He snapped the guard from the holster he wore, creeping through the back hallways.

_“Markov, I know better than that. You’d take me in any way you could get me. Red Room wants my body, not my mind. You could just take me in pieces.”_

_“I could, but there’s no fun in that for me, or for you.”_  Phil was almost to the balcony. He could attempt to drop to the next floor soon and put a bullet right through Markov’s eyes. “ _Besides, don’t you want to see what will happen to Phil? I know he’s got you in here, working the crowds. In fact, I counted on it._ ”

“ _Phil didn’t send me. You stabbed him, remember?_ ” Phil remembered, with a wince. His shoulder was still tender, and he didn’t have full range of movement. “ _You got him in Moscow. He’s licking his wounds in New York. He fell back to regroup. I, on the other hand, wanted to see what you had to offer me. SHIELD is beginning to bore me.”_

“ _You’re a poor liar, Natalia, for someone who is so good at her job._ ” Phil slid down the thin cable he had brought with him, slicing it so that no one could follow. All he had to do was wait…

“ _Considering I’m standing here, offering you the Widow on a silver platter, Markov, you’d do well to be more polite_ ,” Natasha said, and he could see her now, red hair a beacon in the crowd. She was dancing with Markov, and they cut a swath through the dance floor like a bloodied blade. “ _No tricks, no backup. I’m here alone._ ”

_Bring him to the window, Tasha._  Phil crouched on the balcony and pulled his glock, screwing the silencer onto the barrel. He didn’t need it, but it was always better to confuse gunshots.  _Just a little closer_.

“ _Natalia. Enough games. You know as well as I do that Phil wouldn’t give up on me. He’s like a bulldog with a bone. He’d die before he let me slip through his fingers. Where is he?_ ” Phil ducked back when he saw Markov’s head twist, searching for him. “ _Where is my government dog hiding? I’d like to see his tail wag before I shoot it off._ ”

“ _I told you, New York. He’s older now, more careful. You smacked his nose hard, the puppy is hiding._ ” Natasha’s red lips lifted in a smile. “ _I can’t give you what I don’t have. Why are you so intent on him?”_

_“Because he’s the one who’s gunning for me. I chose this space specifically. Let’s finish it, shall we? I bet…”_ And here, Markov paused. Phil’s hand tightened on the grip to his pistol. “ _I’ll bet you that your puppy is wagging his tail on the balcony, waiting to put a round between my eyes. And he’d be right, normally he might be able to – but not today. I’ve rigged the balconies to blow, dearest Natalia. And he won’t be able to get off them in time.”_

There was a solid impact as a clawed arrow embedded itself in the wall above his head. He looked over, saw Clint gliding down the zipline like a man on a mission, and he could hear the rustling of clothing over the comms.

“ _Goodbye, Natalia. If you really would like a piece of Red Room, you know where to find me._ ” Clint’s arms circled around his waist, and suddenly they were in free fall. There was a click, and then the balconies of the hotel erupted in flames and screaming, sending rubble chasing after them. The last thing Phil saw before the rubble of the collapsed wall took them was fire blooming bright, like the breath of a dragon.

* * *

 

The shifting of rock woke him, and he realized he couldn’t take a deep breath. He looked over, the dim light through cracks in the rubble providing him with a dim view of the area. He was trapped, buried up to his chest in broken stone facades. His arm was free, his fingers almost able to brush an unconscious Clint. He could see dark wetness trailing down Clint’s face, pit-patting into the dust with a wet noise. He took a breath.

“Barton.” It was weak, and he could barely hear himself over the ringing in his ears. “ _Clint_.”

Clint didn’t move. Phil stretched his arm, and a grinding in his chest made him hiss in pain.

_Plip, plip, plip._  He could see the drops of blood hit the dust of the ground. Clint’s blood was soaked up by the thirsty earth, and it was almost as if he were feeding it. Phil could see Clint’s ribs move in shallow breaths. That was good. That was excellent.

He fixated on that.

“Natasha?” he called. He tried the comm, but the signal gave him static. Earpiece would be useless buried deep. “Clint, can you hear me? I need you to wake up, kid.”

He coughed, and a sharp splinter of pain shot through him. Who was he kidding, though? Everything hurt. He was tired, too.

He focused on Clint’s breathing, trying to stay awake, trying to stay sane.

In and out, in and out, and Phil lost consciousness.

* * *

 

“They’re here!” came a cry, and Phil recognized Mathers from medical. Oh, oh good. His eyes snapped open, and he turned his head, squinting as the sun filtered in through the hole dug to find them.

“Both alive?”

“Agent Coulson is breathing and conscious. Agent Barton looks as though he has a concussion, but he’s breathing. He’s lost some blood.” More rubble was pushed away, and Phil made a reaching motion toward Clint with his fingers. “I can’t tell what the damage is until we get them out. No, Agent Coulson, sir, don’t move. Your ribs are crushed and most likely broken. Be still.”

“Clint first,” he said, his voice a wheeze. “Get him first.”

“Done, sir. He’s closer, and has less rubble spread out over him. I need you to stay awake and listen to me.” Mathers crouched next to him. He watched Clint being lifted out. They jarred him getting him onto the board to keep him steady. “Watch it, careful!”

“ ** _Phil_**!” Clint began to struggle, coughing as his raw throat strained. “ ** _Phil_**!”

Phil turned his head, even as Mathers rose to assist.

“Strap him down, keep him calm, he’s only going to aggravate his wounds. Agent Barton, can you hear me? His lung is compacted. We need to airlift them out,  ** _now_**. Get Agent Coulson on the board, his ribs are broken as well.”

Phil hissed as the stone ground across his chest, but then he was free.

He could hear the medics calling for a valve, but it was tinny and far away. He rolled his head as he coughed, and saw Natasha sitting on the rubble, her dress torn, hair flowing and tangled around her shoulders. Her fingertips were bloodied; it looked as if she’d been pulling rubble away.

She stood and moved toward him, gliding like an angel of death.

“Markov?” he asked, mouth dry.

“Dead. Bullet in the back.”

“Body recovered?”

“Yes, sir.” She brushed a hand through his hair, and he looked up, seeing how grey the skies were since he’d last seen them. “Don’t die on me, you idiots.”

“Wasn’t…planning on it.” He cracked a smile, wincing as his lip, which had been split, tore open and began bleeding. He watched the sky, Natasha walking with him as they carted him and Clint to the Quin. Clint had stopped screaming. Phil couldn’t hear him anymore. Someone was shouting about compressions, but it faded out as thunder tore through the air.

Phil felt the first drops of rain begin to fall.

_Plip-plip-plip_  into the dry, thirsty earth, as dear and as wanted as blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Petrichor: The smell of dry rain on the ground.
> 
> I have a lot of feelings for bb!SHIELD agents.
> 
> There's a story here, and you're only seeing part of it. Still, I might get around to telling all of it one of these days.


End file.
